Grandpa was very close to Brianne, the two were both considered black sheep of the family. Grandpa was a real estate mogul, owning many of Chicago's retail and residential buildings, and when he passed he left his millions solely to Brianne Blu. Tyler and his wife invite Brianne over to stay the weekend in the hopes of mending their relationship. He only wants what he is owed, his fair share of Grandpa's inheritance. Brianne has other plans, she wants what she has always wanted, all of Tyler. Watch the story unfold..
I was shocked when I saw a handsome man walk in the door! Was it him? He was always handsome as an eighteen year old, and although he is just a year older, he still has the same boyish face I fell in love with. I was quick to apologize for myself but assure him that I was happy. I felt as though I had to explain myself, tell him that society has a terrible stigma, and that women like myself aren't "bad." He could never think of me as bad, he only wanted me, he wanted to be with me. When his hand touched my body, I felt a quiver run up my spine, my breathing slowed, wetness trickled down into my lace panties. He wanted me, and God forgive me, I wanted him as well.
He wheels me into the home and the women speak to each other. I think the mother is asking the girls to go to bed, although I can not be certain. I look at the woman, she is in her late 30's, slim build, soft features on her face, she smiles at me. I want to ask her who she is, who am I, and where am I, but I am very tired. The man wheels me over to the edge of the room, it's dark in this corner, but moonlight streams through the window. I look at the moonlight. Yes, I do remember that is the last thing I saw before I became so confused. The moonlight. I remember it like a snapshot in time, and I close my eyes to search for more snapshots. The moonlight came through my bathroom window. I was in a bathroom, yes! I open my eyes, I want to celebrate this little gift that my mind gave to me. I look towards the bed, and I now see the woman is nude, the man is nude. They are kissing. They are making love. Making love is something I can remember. I had a girlfriend, or do I have a girlfriend? I feel strange as I glance at my hands, they're bound to the wheelchair. I recognize my hands, they are mine, and I quietly celebrate every little piece of recognition. I look at the couple, his cock is sliding in and out of her pussy. She moans, she stares at me, and I like the way she looks at me. It terrifies me and thrills me. A feeling of mistrust washes over me as I recognize that this is not normal. The bed they are making love in was the bed that I was to recover in. I think that is the bed that I was to recover in? I don't know. I don't know. Who the fuck am I? I try to close my eyes but I can't keep my eyes off of her and I hate myself, and yes, this is a familiar feeling that I recognize and celebrate.
I drove her to her house. She lost her keys. I looked into the window, hoping she had roommates as she tried to steady herself in heels. "Do you have your phone?" Angie giggled, "phoooone home!" Hilarious. I rolled my eyes as I called my wife and explained to her that we were to babysit an adult tonight. "No, oh no--" my wife said, "I can hardly take care of myself, you'll take care of her."
"I'm in love with you," Angie cooed as I laid her down to bed. I scrunched my brow and left her to recover in her room. In the morning, she came downstairs feeling better.
One thing you should know about Angie and I, is that we, sometimes, flirt with each other at the office. I know it's wrong. I know I'm married, and she's just a twenty-two year old girl, but still, when she rests her leg against mine in the boardroom, I enjoy the attention, the feeling of the heat that comes from her leg, and the way her green eyes glance over at me as she playfully sucks on the end of her pen. I've had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom to pound one out more times than I can count. The flirting is minor, nothing to feel guilty about, but the fantasies are something to be ashamed of. I love my wife. I love my wife. I love my wife. I have to silently repeat it every time I see her.
My wife is in our room, resting with a terrible cold, and I am left alone with Angie. It's as if I am in a room alone with a lioness. She's the predator and I'm her prey. I want to be a good man. I want to refuse her advances. "You'll regret this," I tell her. "You'll regret this if we don't," she retorts.
The man stands in front of me and I look up at him. "Hello Josh," he says. I know that name as my own. That IS who I am. My name is Josh, Josh, but what is my last name? My mother named me Josh, she used to call me Joshy when she was feeling affectionate. "Kiara and Jesse told me that they’ve been working with you a lot these last few days and you’re started to regain your ability to talk. That’s great."
I search my brain to remember Kiara and Jesse, and I recall them. The two girls were putting lipstick on me and playing dress up. I asked them for help, and they giggled and mocked me. This was just last night, or was it last week? Time is escaping me. I'm angry. I look at my restraints on my wrist. "Those are to protect you from yourself. They’re only temporary." I ask him, "how am I here?" The words came out slow and methodical, but they were my words, and it was easier to speak than it had been. This means that I am getting better, I am improving. I will break free of this place, and go somewhere... I don't know where, I try to think of home and I begin to feel nauseated, exhausted by the small work of forming a sentence, moving my finger. The doctor is speaking and I try to concentrate on his words. He is a doctor. This is another found piece of a lost memory. This new information doesn't soothe me with trust. He is telling me that I tried to take my life, and I was in a coma. They thought I was gone. He believed that he could save me. I feel my face flush with heat. I am angry. I am frustrated. He is lying, or is he? His face looks kindly at me, he smiles at me. I do not trust him, his smile looks wicked like an animated Cheshire cat. I think he mocks me behind his kind eyes and wicked smile.
I do, however, remember the bathroom, it is my bathroom. That was my last memory. On top of the porcelain sink was an empty bottle of pills, and I remember lifting my heavy head to look at my face. I was pale, my eyes were red, there was vomit on my white t-shirt, my head throbbed, much like it throbs now. If he is telling the truth, I must be in hell, and he must be the devil. I must be captive in a hell specifically designed to torment me. I'm tired of the thought of it all so I sleep and when I open my eyes a woman is taking off my restraints. It's the doctor's wife. I heard him call her, "Beverly," when they were making love. I asked her, "So what, this is supposed to be hell?" She caressed my arm, she smiled seductively, "It could be heaven." Beverly tells me that her husband, Tommy, saved me, and she said more things about death that were poetic and flowery, hard to follow, as I stared at her body. I felt my cock twitch and I looked down in surprise. Beverly still spoke about how wonderful death would be with no obligations, and I tuned out and focused on the lower half of my body. If my cock could twitch, my legs could move, if my legs could move, I could run free. She invited me to the garden. I watched her walk out the French doors onto a patio. I tried to stand.
My legs wobbled under my weight. I was like a newborn, walking for the first time, one step forward, and I struggled to keep my balance. I lifted my left leg and carefully pulled it in front of my right. The next thing I know my legs carried me out to the patio where the family smiles and cheered. I looked towards the end of the yard, I heard the sound of a car driving by, there must be a street! I will run to the street and be free! I will find out where my home is. My mother. I can remember her eye color, her hair color, and it's not much but it's something. My legs are moving fast, as fast as I can manage, and then I am stunned. I hear a piercing noise in my ears. I lunge forward, the noise gets even louder. I feel as if my brain will explode. I fall to my knees in agonizing pain. The family looks at me in pity. I think the two daughters begged me to stay, I could not hear their words, only saw their mouths speak. The pain was too great and I slipped back into the familiar blackness. This is the same black that washed over me in my bathroom, right before I met the doctor. Blackness feels like being a helpless babe in a womb, it's warm, comforting, and I hear the muffled whirl of wind, inhaling and exhaling, a heartbeat, it's so quiet, it's barely audible. I am in the blackness, the nothingness, and somehow I believe that this is what I deserve. This is some justifiable punishment for some terrible crime that I committed. I do not remember the crime, but I remember the shame. I open my eyes and I see two angels. I look closer and I see that they are the daughters, "Jesse" and "Kiara." They are caressing me, the touch of their hands feel comforting and strange. There is an innocence about these two young women that make me wonder if they are like me, stuck in this hell. "What are you two doing?"
"We're officially welcoming you to the family," Kiara said, and she kissed my lips softly. "I'm not part of your family. We're not related." "Neither are we, Not technically. We're more like adopted sisters," Jesse said as she ran her hand up my t-shirt. "We're rescues, just like you."
The feeling of her touch made me hard as a rock. I can feel them touching me. Their eyes are hungry. They look at me as if they want to devour me. I feel as if these two beautiful blondes are feral, wild and unstoppable, they grip at my cock. I do not stop them. I welcome it. I welcome the touch, the familiar feeling of pleasure in sex. I am their prey, happily their victim.